A Favor Returned
by kenthel
Summary: Zexion and Roxas are in the room next to the library and it gets interesting.


A Scene That Never Happened IV

Roxas was standing in between three captives, one of which possessing enormous power, and their exit from the room stubbornly refusing to let them pass.

"Let them go, XIII, you're more useful alive." Zexion, a voice of reason amongst this madness, knew that the battle was impossible to win for their sides against such a formidable opponent and subtly advised him to back down.

Hearing this, Roxas lowered Oblivion and Oathkeeper and looked away as the three passed, his arms shaking as he gripped his weapons as tightly as he could to restrain himself from lashing out. He could feel the nervous tension swell inside of his chest, but held himself until they were safely out of range before he slammed his keyblades sideways into the wall, leaving an impressive sized hole in the drywall. Even then, the knot that had formed continued to build up within him and he viciously hacked at the baseboard of the doorway, sending a piece of it flying.

Zexion watched his actions with mild disinterest, though he believed he could empathize with Roxas. Lack of release through emotion was what he perceived as frustrating and he too had attempted to destroy, yet found the method entirely worthless.

The oddly-shaped swords finally hit the hard ground with a clatter, having been thrown by their master who had sunk to his knees, holding his head of blonde spikes in his hands. The superior member stood from the wooden chair and looked down at Roxas.

Suddenly, his head snapped up and his eyes locked themselves onto Zexion. He jumped up, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pinned him roughly against the wall. Zexion just looked at him blankly, not surprised, not even startled.

"How do you do it, Zexion?" Roxas demanded severely, his voice low, but his tone deadly, "How don't you desecrate the entire world with all this energy?"

Instead of using words, Zexion stuck his head forward to barely brush Roxas' lips to his. Roxas deepened his scowl, but loosened his grip considerably as he pondered the idea.

"Does it work?" he asked, unsure.

The other placed his gloved hands on either side of Roxas' face, pulled it towards his own, and gently brought their lips together. Roxas felt lighter as his anxiety dimmed. In a sudden rush, Roxas pulled at Zexion's shoulders in a desperate attempt to become closer. * In a moment of boldness, Zexion forcibly tilted Roxas' face further and flicked his tongue into his mouth. His breath hitched as one of Roxas' arms made its way to the small of his back, leaving no space between them. The kissing became more rapid, more necessary, as the shortness of the inhalations was beginning to leave them dazed and the closeness of the bodies made them overheated. Finally, Roxas slowed, taking deep, slightly haggard breaths in between each of their kisses, which were becoming gradually more spaced and gentle until they were merely quiet pecks. Then he stopped, drained, and rested his forehead against Zexion's shoulder. Zexion stroked the back of his head soothingly.

"Anytime," he whispered into the blonde's ear, sending a chill down his side, before carefully pushing Roxas off, leaving him with the faded look of dissolving lust.

Having gained this one's trust, Zexion had other matters to attend to. He smirked as he pat the canister tucked into the inner pocket of his black overcoat while he departed from the room.

* * *

Plot Twist: * Suddenly, Roxas pulled at Zexion's shoulders in a desperate attempt to become closer. As he had his partner entranced, Roxas looked out the corner of his eye toward the previously forgotten weapon, summoned it to his newly freed hand, and abruptly ended the kiss. Zexion looked up at him questioningly, his brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could speak out in protest, Roxas' nefarious expression sent a freezing touch of fear down his spine. With one swift motion, Roxas thrust the deadly, serrated blade into the other's gut, the sharp tip sliding easily through his tender skin, only to exit through his back and lodge itself into the wall.

True Romance is dead.


End file.
